| General Non-Fiction posted April 14, 2024 |
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Caught forever in a living nightmare
Counting The Minutes
by Begin Again
My Worst Fear Writing Contest Contest Winner
The sun was slowly dipping below the horizon, painting the sky with shades of reddish-orange and golden hues. It resembled a child's ball, floating effortlessly on the calm water.
Standing near the shoreline, I clutched an empty bottle of bubbles found bobbing in the waves. My fingers dug deep into the plastic, and my knuckles turned white with the intensity of my emotions.
How could this have happened? We were on a family trip, enjoying the beautiful day, and now my world was unraveling.
I had heard the powerful airboat approaching the dock and stopped packing the car to call out to my four-year-old son, Michael. I knew that the sound of the roaring engine would fascinate him. Now, as I stood near the dock, a million thoughts raced through my mind, many dark and terrifying. Had he been in the lake when the boat's razor-sharp blades cut through the water?
Michael had been missing for hours, and my panic was out of control. I wanted to believe that he was safe and would come running back any moment, that he'd just wandered off, but the mother in me knew better. My instincts whispered he was gone, that his body lay beneath the blue-green water, cold and lifeless.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I prayed for a miracle, for some sign that my son was still alive. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the memories that haunted me. But they were relentless, swirling around in my mind like a storm. I could hear the voices, the shouting, the anger, the desperation. I could feel the ache, the loss, the emptiness that would last forever.
The volunteers and the men from the Sheriff's department had searched fields, campers, cars, and the forest. A human chain of thirty men had walked the eighteen-inch deep water but found nothing. Yet, as the sun was setting, I begged them to do it one more time.
Only a few steps into the second walk, one man raised his hand. He bent over and gathered Michael into his arms, cradling him against his chest. Later, he said he thought my son was smiling when he lifted him from the water. In time, I would learn to cherish that thought.
Strong arms, people I didn't know, wrapped their arms around me as a blood-curdling scream ripped from my body, watching as he carried my son ashore to the waiting coroner's vehicle. I felt as if I was suffocating. There are no words to describe how my worst fear was alive, wreaking havoc inside me.
As the sun dipped below the horizon and the world grew dark around me, I experienced the ultimate horror, knowing I would never see his beautiful face or hear his sweet laugh again. I realized that even the most beautiful days can become living nightmares. All we can do is hold on to the memories, like fragile bubbles floating away on the wind, and hope that the light will return someday.
The sun was slowly dipping below the horizon, painting the sky with shades of reddish-orange and golden hues. It resembled a child's ball, floating effortlessly on the calm water.
Standing near the shoreline, I clutched an empty bottle of bubbles found bobbing in the waves. My fingers dug deep into the plastic, and my knuckles turned white with the intensity of my emotions.
How could this have happened? We were on a family trip, enjoying the beautiful day, and now my world was unraveling.
I had heard the powerful airboat approaching the dock and stopped packing the car to call out to my four-year-old son, Michael. I knew that the sound of the roaring engine would fascinate him. Now, as I stood near the dock, a million thoughts raced through my mind, many dark and terrifying. Had he been in the lake when the boat's razor-sharp blades cut through the water?
Michael had been missing for hours, and my panic was out of control. I wanted to believe that he was safe and would come running back any moment, that he'd just wandered off, but the mother in me knew better. My instincts whispered he was gone, that his body lay beneath the blue-green water, cold and lifeless.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I prayed for a miracle, for some sign that my son was still alive. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the memories that haunted me. But they were relentless, swirling around in my mind like a storm. I could hear the voices, the shouting, the anger, the desperation. I could feel the ache, the loss, the emptiness that would last forever.
The volunteers and the men from the Sheriff's department had searched fields, campers, cars, and the forest. A human chain of thirty men had walked the eighteen-inch deep water but found nothing. Yet, as the sun was setting, I begged them to do it one more time.
Only a few steps into the second walk, one man raised his hand. He bent over and gathered Michael into his arms, cradling him against his chest. Later, he said he thought my son was smiling when he lifted him from the water. In time, I would learn to cherish that thought.
Strong arms, people I didn't know, wrapped their arms around me as a blood-curdling scream ripped from my body, watching as he carried my son ashore to the waiting coroner's vehicle. I felt as if I was suffocating. There are no words to describe how my worst fear was alive, wreaking havoc inside me.
As the sun dipped below the horizon and the world grew dark around me, I experienced the ultimate horror, knowing I would never see his beautiful face or hear his sweet laugh again. I realized that even the most beautiful days can become living nightmares. All we can do is hold on to the memories, like fragile bubbles floating away on the wind, and hope that the light will return someday.
My Worst Fear Writing Contest Contest Winner |
 Recognized |
It has been a long time, but as I wrote this story, it felt like it was happening again. I felt the tightening in my chest, and tears flowed. I would not wish for anyone to experience the fear that engulfs a person as they wait, somehow knowing what the outcome will be, but pleading with God to make the ending different.
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